


Standards

by Eoraptor



Category: Kim Possible (Cartoon)
Genre: Angst, Community: Kim Possible Slash Haven, F/F, Oneshot, Walk Into A Bar
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-25
Updated: 2018-02-25
Packaged: 2019-03-23 18:01:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,379
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13793121
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Eoraptor/pseuds/Eoraptor
Summary: Sometimes we are our own worst enemies, even when we are trying to clean up our acts.





	Standards

**Author's Note:**

> AN: Rated T for Teen: language, situation. Kim Possible and related characters copyright 2002-2007 Walt Disney Animation. This is a fan work and not for profit.

Prague. It’s not bad. It’s a fun city. It’s old enough to roll with the punches, but not so old that it’s become staid and inflexible. A dangerous mix of western freedoms, but with enough eastern socialism that you could still find a safe place to stay at night or someone to bandage you up after too much adventure. 

I was at a bar, soaking away my misery as the rest of the world enjoyed itself. They had just reopened some big thing that had been destroyed a few years earlier during the invasion, a sky scrapper I think, and it seemed like everyone in the world was in a mood to party. 

There were a trio of girls sitting across the floor from me, occasionally pointing, talking in hushed tones. Once in a while they would notice that I noticed, and giggle and blush. I only know it was a trio because of the table. Three sets of keys, three kinds of drinks. White wine for the blonde, what I could only assume was vodka for the brunette, and a third party, absent for the past few minutes, who was drinking the local Pivo. 

You notice these things when you’re a thief. Even a reformed one.

The local vodka was not good enough for me, so I was pointedly was paying three times the going rate for an import from Sweden. The alcohol wouldn’t survive long enough in my system to be of much benefit, so it was all about the flavor. 

Finally the blonde either got up enough nerve, or killed enough trepidation with wine, to get up and come over to my lone table. “Guten abend.”

Of course she spoke German first. Couldn’t be a language I actually have a decent command of like French. In German I know enough to order a drink, ask where the bathroom is, or demand a lawyer. Not much else. “Englisch sprechen? Oh- oder französisch?”

“Oh, of course. How stupid of me. I speak English. But go slow, please?” She smiled an uncertain, but pleasant smile. 

Go slow. That sounded promising; like she wanted to do more than just say hi and ask for a picture or an autograph or Plus me on Friendspace. Up close, she was younger than I thought. Bars are like that no matter where you go. Dim light hides the flaws better, or promotes intimacy. Depends on your mindset I guess. Anyway, she was definitely young. 

“Are you even old enough for that?” I indicated her long stemmed glass with my eyes as I sipped my over-priced drink.

She looked down at the glass, and then giggled at me, shaking out her hair. Even in the dim light it managed to shimmer pretty spectacularly. High maintenance blonde hair like that didn’t come cheap or without time spent on its care. The thief in me again. 

Then again, this was hardly a cheap dive bar I was in. 

“Of course I am.” She smiled. Her English was accented, but not so heavily. She didn’t have the sound of a harsh matron or a cliché. Definitely nothing like my old bitchy nemesis Electronique who sounded like Natasha Fatale doing her impersonation of a Russian aristocrat. “I’m on season from university, not kindergaarten.”

Oooh, a little bit of fiest there. Color me interested.

“Please forgive me saying, but you don’t look as… green as they show on the TV?” and green. Always color me green. “Shouldn’t you be there?”

I looked at the rotating news coverage that played on one screen in the corner of the room. Most of the rest were showing various European sporting events, mainly their football, my soccer. I shook my head and looked back at her. She was considering me. Not my skin, but me personally. It was more like she was complimenting my hair than commenting on what a neon freak I was. Another point in her favour. 

“It’s not my thing. I didn’t save the world. I was just along for the ride.” I dismissed that topic. I’d had my share of award ceremonies. I was never in it for the notoriety anyway. If I had been, I’d have done it a string bikini instead of a neck-to-toe catsuit.

“They said you flew… a rocket ship?” She sipped her wined and grinned at me, her cute nose crinkling. “That sounds like more than… a casual encounter?”

I wasn’t sure if it was the language barrier, of if that really was an entendre. Either way I sat forward a bit and sipped my drink, “I did. Not the first thing I’ve flown. Definitely the second fastest.”

“Second?” she rolled the word around. I could tell she was trying to decide if she had misheard the same way I had. “There was ein first fastest?”

“A rocket ship thing. An idiot I knew turned it into a car. Almost killed me.” I chuckled a bit in spite of myself. Why was it only the things that almost killed me held my attention? I pushed out the seat across from me for her. 

She sat down smoothly, sipping her wine. “Sounds exciting. My name is Helena.”

“Shego,” I answered back with a small smile. “I guess it was. I ended up in the mud in hand cuffs.”

“Oooh?” She smiled a bit and giggled, “Is that kinky?”

I watched her a bit closely. Again the question floated to the front of my mind, ‘translation error or innuendo?’ I decided to ask something that was clearly nonsexual to sort it out.

“What is that you’re drinking? Usually I can tell by smell.” I indicated her drink as I sipped my own.

“Saint Wenceslas.” She nodded, matting my sip, but keeping her eyes right on mine. “From the castle. Local and romantic.” 

“Expensive for a college girl,”

“It’s okay. I buy it for local pride. Plus, it tastes good.” Definitely innuendo. 

She kept her eyes on mine the whole time. She wasn’t thinking one bit about the wine or the bar. Always watch the eyes, I had learned in my years as a mercenary and thief. People always look at what they are thinking about.

Well, I could certainly go for some company. She was definitely a beauty, with that pale central alpine “Heidi” look despite the Nordic hair and eyes. And she obviously wasn’t dumb. 

Apparently my mind had wandered, because she tapped her wine glass on my vodka tumbler, “And you? That’s obviously not Wyborowa. What is pleasing to your tongue?”

Wow. Yeah that was definitely an invite. If it weren’t for the accent, I’d say it was a total line. Damn I wish I spoke German better.

“Cariel. Better flavor.” I nodded, taking a pointed sip, letting it linger in my mouth, the glass at my lips and beneath my nose. 

She obviously noticed because she licked hers. “Is that all that pleases your mouth?”

I almost frowned. Either she’d had more wine than I noticed and her mouth was getting a bit loose, or she was not as good at flirtation as she seemed. Again I noticed how smooth and young her skin was. And the way her little Spanish riding jacket parted just over the peaks of her… yeah her clubbing apparel. 

Still, lonely day, pleasant company. “No. I definitely enjoy the European life.” 

If she was going to use base innuendo, then so should I. Maybe it really was a language barrier. Everyone knew Americans were prudes after all.

She smiled openly at this and twirled her wine in her fingertips. “Oh good. I was worried maybe it was true about that blue skinned man.”

I made a face this time. I couldn’t help it. Everyone always assumed ~that~. Not that I could blame them. We sepnt every day for years together in dank caves. I lived it and even I sometimes had cause to wonder.

“No, never. It was strictly platonic… friendly.” I corrected quickly. 

Apparently this removed all doubt for Helena what I was here for. I felt the side of a patent leather heel rolling up my calf beneath the little table. “Do you have a room nearby maybe? I think I’d like to continue this discussion about wet appetites.”

Young, hot, into me, and ready to go? This should have thrilled me. Probably would have most other nights. 

But tonight? Now all I could think of was ‘where’s the challenge?’ 

What little interest I might have had in the blonde girl cooled quickly. There just was no desire for a quick score. I had about as much interest as what was in her pocket book as what was under that jacket of hers. Which is to say, none now. 

I decided to let her down gently. It was a lesson I had learned early on in my civil life after going straight. What worked in the criminal underworld didn’t fly in open society. If a henchman got cheesey or handsy with me, I set them on fire and that was that. As a law abiding citizen, that nearly got me thrown into jail and reminded me that my pardon could very quickly be ignored by local authorities if I misbehaved. 

“What about your friends?” I tried to dissuade her. 

“Cossette is not that way, I’m afraid.” She kept her foot moving as she smiled, “She does not like to share.”

Wow… so casual. “I doubt that she wants to be left alone while you run off with a new friend?”

“I’m sure Marie will keep her company. They know I am… kind of eager.”

Kind of a slut. I didn’t say it, but I was rapidly going from neutral on this whole thing to actively turned off. “Look, you’re very attractive,”

She smiled brightly at that and perked up more yet.

“But I’m flying out in just a few hours.”

“Well, perhaps still some time to sample the local cuisine?”

Okay, maybe a little bit less polite this time. “I’m sorry. You seem to have the wrong idea. I’m just here for a drink or three. I’m sure you’re a nice girl, but all I want is some vodka.”

I don’t know if there really was a breakdown in translation, of if she was just one of those people who get really irritable when frustrated; but whatever it was it seemed to cut more deeply than I intended.

“Green witch.”

She’s lucky I’m reformed. Four years ago that would have gotten her a serious second degree burn to the face at least. I’ve broken bones for less.

“Now Look.” I rose from my chair, “You seem to forget who you’re dealing with. I’m sorry I’m not interested, but calling a dangerous stranger names is not a smart thing to do.”

I turned to leave only to hear a new voice join the conversation. This time it was in French. [Is this woman bothering you Helena?]

I turned back, and had I been a cartoon character, I would have smacked my hand to my face in frustration. 

[No Marie. She just thinks that she is better than me is all.]

Marie, the beer drinker from their trio had appeared. A redhead. Of course it had to be a redhead. A redhead who immediately took her friend’s side over the foreign stranger. 

[This is the green tramp from the TV right? The one with that blue weirdo? You could do better anyway.]

I could have revealed that I knew I was being insulted, but I held my tongue. All I had to do was pay for my vodka and leave. 

[You’re right Marie, I don’t know what I was thinking. She is probably sour anyway.]

Just get to the door, Shego. Don’t let a bunch of half-drunk college girls goad you.

[You’re telling me? She’s the color of a week old steak, probably rotten and tough.]

I put a fifty Euro note on the table and turned to go. I’d stomached enough green jokes over the years to endure far worse than this. When you’ve been insulted by the best, this level of irritation is nothing more than a pebble in the shoe.

[After all, Kim Possible wouldn’t have her, she’s hardly worth you Helena.]

Even if I wasn’t fluent in French, I could have picked THAT name out from across the bar. “What. The. Fuck.”

Apparently this got both of their attentions. Helena had forgotten what I had asked if she spoke French, and her mouthy little friend was unaware that I could understand every word. At least they had the good sense to look a little ashamed.

But only a little. 

“Now you listen to me you worthless twats,” Whatever self-control I’d had disappeared. International incidents be damned. They’d just pushed the mother of all hot buttons. “I don’t know if it’s the poor taste in booze or the liberal college attitude, but you watch you’re fucking mouths. I wouldn’t want either one of them within a royal fucking mile, not a prissy little kilometer, but a Fucking Imperial Mile, of my glorious green flesh. I said I wasn’t interested, so kindly take you’re Eurostar passes and go back to campus and wallow in your self-importance.”

I picked up my glass of vodka and slammed the last swallow home, smashing it back down on the table. 

The two girls jumped back when the glass made an audible pop and snap. 

I didn’t jump, but I did look down in surprise. Then I looked down at my hands. 

Yup. 

On fire. 

My flames had atomized the remaining alcohol in the glass, which had then ignited, making the remaining ice explode and sooting the inside of the glass dark grey. Likewise the cuffs of my blouse were charred and smoking. They were not made of the same material as my forty thousand dollar cat suit, and so not remotely flame retardant.

Irritably smacking out the embers after willing my hands to stop broiling; I sighed and put another fifty note on the table. I decided to leave before the cops were called, or at least be gone before they arrived if they’d already been called.

What a damned night. Me and my high standards. Why is it only those things that try to kill me get me excited?

**Author's Note:**

> AN: So I wrote this some long time ago. Found it tonight while looking for something else, thought I would share it. Resharing is Caring, and reviews = LOVE


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